


i hit the number, it was always you

by underwaternow



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwaternow/pseuds/underwaternow
Summary: “Come on, Gabe, think about it. What better way to make this season totally different?”Gabe scrunches up his forehead.“Also, I love you,” Tyson adds, because that part is kind of important too. He can’t think of anybody he’d rather marry in Vegas after three - actually. No. He’s pretty sure it was four - strawberry margaritas.





	i hit the number, it was always you

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [crispierchip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispierchip/pseuds/crispierchip) in the [AVSFAM](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/AVSFAM) collection. 



> consider this one a bonus fic, i guess. please forgive the creative liberties i had to take with the avs’ schedule to make this work! thank you to maria for the prompt and reading it over and enthusiastically encouraging all the changes i made to her already spectacular prompt, and as always, thank you to you guys, for reading and commenting and generally being fantastic. love u. title is from "jackpot" by nikki lane.

“I can’t do another season like last year,” Gabe says, sounding almost panicked, as he walks into Tyson and Nate’s hotel room. The team arrived back at the hotel and scattered, nobody in the mood to talk, less than ten minutes ago, but Tyson isn’t surprised to see him. Nate shuts the door behind him and immediately disappears back into the bathroom, his designated sulking area. Tyson is lying on his bed, listening to “Man! I Feel Like A Woman,” because normally Shania makes him feel better, but it isn’t working.

“It’s not gonna be like last year,” Tyson says firmly, turning off his music. Gabe takes off his shoes and lies down on the bed next to him, flat on his back like Tyson. He doesn’t say anything. They both stare at the ceiling.

“How do you know?” Gabe asks, finally, voice small. Tyson pushes himself up on his elbow and looks at Gabe. The bags under his eyes are huge, there’s a scratch on his chin, and he didn’t comb his hair. He looks terrible.

“I just do,” Tyson says, lying back down and curling against Gabe’s side. “I said it’s not, so it won’t be.”

Gabe huffs out a laugh and puts his arm around Tyson. “Thank you.”

Tyson lifts his head up, just a little, and kisses the corner of Gabe’s mouth. “It’s one game,” he reminds him, even though that doesn’t really make him feel any better right now either. “There are 81 others.”

“I know, but I want to win them all,” Gabe tells him, because of course he does. God, Tyson loves him. “And I know we can’t, but I don’t want to lose any of them with a score like that.”

Tyson tries not to wince. Yeah, 7-0 is brutal. It’s embarrassing. Vegas isn’t even supposed to be good. “I know.”

Gabe sighs deeply into Tyson’s hair. “Let’s go out,” he says after a few minutes.

“You really want to go out right now?” Tyson asks, even as he sits up.

“Sad and drunk in a club sounds better than sad and not drunk in a stupid hotel room,” Gabe tells him, shoving his feet back in his shoes. “Go ask Nate if he wants to come.”

Well, Tyson isn’t going to argue with that. He knocks on the bathroom door; Nate opens it with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, some pink lotion dabbed all over his face, and Gucci Mane blasting faintly out of his headphones.

“We’re going out,” Tyson tells him. “You in?”

Nate shakes his head. “I feel like I’m getting sick.”

“Okay,” Tyson says, allowing him the lie. “Well, room’s all yours. I’ll stay with Gabe when we get back.”

“Thanks,” Nate says, giving him a small, tight smile. “Have fun.”

 

 

An hour later, Tyson is so drunk he can’t feel his feet. Gabe ordered them both two shots as soon as they walked into whatever club they’re at, and then he immediately switched to strawberry margaritas. He’s had three already. He thinks. They’re out on the dance floor, grinding against each other, Gabe’s whiskey-hot breath on his neck, when Tyson sees the Elvis impersonator.

“Hey,” he yells over the music, some shitty electronic beat that doesn’t have any bass drops. “Gabe. We should get married.”

“What?” Gabe yells back. The Elvis impersonator is heading away, winding his - or her, Tyson can’t tell from here but he doesn’t discriminate - way through the club, and Tyson yanks on Gabe’s arm, not taking his eyes off the white jumpsuit. “Tyson, what the hell?”

Tyson ignores Gabe’s protests, just drags him off the dance floor and outside. The bouncer gives them a look as they stumble onto the sidewalk.

“Let’s get married,” Tyson repeats, pointing at the Elvis impersonator, a block away now and crossing the street. It’s fine. They don’t need _that_ Elvis impersonator. Each chapel is stocked with its own, Tyson is pretty sure.

“Are you out of your mind?” Gabe asks him.

“Remember, we talked about it, you’re the one who said we should get engaged soon anyway,” Tyson says. “Come on, Gabe, think about it. What better way to make this season totally different?”

Gabe scrunches up his forehead.

“Also, I love you,” Tyson adds, because that part is kind of important too. He can’t think of anybody he’d rather marry in Vegas after three - actually. No. He’s pretty sure it was four - strawberry margaritas.

“I love you too,” Gabe says, looking decisive and very, very drunk. “Okay. Where?”

Tyson grins. “Come with me.”

 

 

When they stumble into Caesar’s Palace, they run smack into JT, Josty, and EJ, which is actually perfect; they need witnesses. This is such a good plan.

“We’re getting married,” Gabe announces, and EJ literally gasps, pushes Josty out of the way to give Gabe a hug and pound him on the back. “You’re my best man, okay?”

“Yes,” EJ says, incredibly seriously, nodding. “Give me the rings.”

“Oh,” Gabe says, deflating, looking at Tyson. “We don’t have rings.”

“We’ll find some,” Tyson says, because that’s no problem. They can find wedding rings anywhere; he’s not letting that stop him. “Gabe, you go with EJ and find a ring for me. I’ll find one for you.” He points authoritatively at JT and Josty. “You guys have to go reserve the chapel. Tell them we need Elvis!”

“On it, man,” JT says, and they take off through the lobby, toward the casino and the wedding chapel. Good. Tyson loves the rookies.

“Meet at the chapel,” Tyson informs Gabe. “Thirty minutes.” He glances at his watch; it’s already 11:20. “No, at midnight, then we don’t have to get married on this stupid garbage day.”

“You have the best ideas,” Gabe says, and grabs him by the shirt and kisses him really thoroughly. Tyson’s lips are buzzing when Gabe lets go of him and stumbles back. “Okay. I love you. Are you gonna take my last name?”

“We’ll hyphenate,” Tyson tells him, and then heads off to go find Gabe a ring.

 

 

Tyson meets JT and Josty at the chapel at 11:55, makeshift ring for Gabe safely in his pocket; Josty has paperwork that he shoves into Tyson’s hands. “The lady thought it was for us,” he says, as JT snickers. “She almost didn’t give you a later time because she thought since we were already here, we didn’t need to wait.”

“Don’t steal our thunder,” Tyson says, scrawling his and Gabe’s names down on the form. “You’re just witnesses, remember. Oh, hey, that means you have to sign this.”

Gabe and EJ show up a minute later, and Tyson pulls EJ aside and hands him Gabe’s ring as Gabe fills out his section of the paperwork, and then they proceed into the chapel. Elvis is waiting. Tyson faces Gabe, hands clasped together, and Gabe smiles goofily at him, reaches over and gently takes Tyson’s wrist.

“Oh, right,” Tyson says, and holds both of Gabe’s hands. Josty giggles behind him.

Elvis clears his throat. “Thank ya for being here today, thanks, thank ya very much.”

“He’s not very good,” Tyson hears JT whisper. Josty giggles again.

“We’re here to join these two in marriage,” Elvis announces, and Tyson’s heart rate kicks up a little; they’re actually doing this. Gabe squeezes his hands. “I’d like to invite the lovebirds to say a few words to each other first.” He gestures to Tyson and Tyson blinks.

“Okay. Um. Gabriel. I love you. I love your big head and the way you leave socks all over the bathroom and your dog, who is really my dog now too, and your stupid tight pants.” He smiles at Gabe, takes a breath and keeps going. “I love every single day we’ve been together, even the one where we got in that huge fight and you told me you hope I choke on a Blizzard, and I love you even when you insist I eat vegetables, because I love the way you take care of me. And… I love you. I can’t wait to be married to you.” Tyson pauses, thinks about it. “Oh! And I love your dick.”

“Christ,” EJ mutters. Everyone ignores him.

Gabe beams at him. Tyson is pretty sure he’s tearing up. “Okay. My turn.” It isn’t really a question, but Elvis nods anyway, gestures to him.

“I love you, Tyson Barrie,” Gabe says. Tyson squeezes his hands again. “I have loved you since the day we met as teammates for the first time and you told me I’d go bald by thirty because my head is so much bigger than the average person’s and I won’t have enough hair to cover it. I love the way you snore, how you insist on being the big spoon, and your dedication to seeing every movie ever made. I love knowing that you have my back, always, no matter what. I even love your sweet tooth.” Damn. Tyson should’ve had someone record the ceremony so he has an official record of that. “I love that you decided we should get married in Vegas and made it happen. I’m really lucky. I love you.”

Jesus, now Tyson’s tearing up too. He loves Gabe so much, barely listens as Elvis asks them each to repeat after him, only hears Gabe’s “I do” clear as a bell and sees the smile on his face when Tyson slides the wire from a bottle of champagne that he twisted into a ring onto Gabe’s finger. When it’s his turn to say “I do,” Gabe smiles at him again as he puts a ring pop onto Tyson’s finger. It’s the most beautiful thing Tyson has ever seen.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada,” Elvis announces, “I now pronounce you two hunka hunks of burnin’ love married. You may now kiss.”

Gabe grabs for Tyson, cups his face with both hands and crushes their mouths together. Tyson grips Gabe by the waist and holds on, kisses back with fervor, and is vaguely aware of JT, Josty, and EJ whooping and applauding. “Can’t Help Fallin’ In Love” plays, there’s confetti being thrown, and they stumble out of the chapel with Gabe’s arm firmly around Tyson’s waist. Wild. They’re _married_.

“We need to celebrate,” EJ announces, and out of nowhere a waitress is bringing them champagne. Tyson drinks and kisses Gabe and drinks some more until he’s dizzy, although he isn’t sure from which one, and eventually they head out into the night. The last thing Tyson remembers is standing in front of Caesar’s Palace, EJ taking pictures with his phone, kissing Gabe with the Las Vegas strip stretching out around them.

 

 

Tyson wakes up the next morning because his brain is actually trying to claw its way out of his skull, he’s pretty sure. He groans against Gabe’s back.

“Stop screaming,” Gabe says, voice hoarse, sounding as shitty as Tyson feels. “Please.”

“‘m not screaming,” Tyson mutters, rolling onto his back and putting his hands over his face. His left hand is way fucking heavier than his right, and he lifts it up and squints at it. The ring pop is half gone; he has a vague memory of sucking on it between glasses of champagne while Josty and JT made blowjob jokes that had Gabe blushing.

“Hey,” Tyson says. He nudges Gabe with his elbow.

“What, Tyson?” Gabe says.

“We got _married_ last night,” Tyson reminds him.

“You forgot already?” Gabe asks, rolling over and draping himself across Tyson’s chest without opening his eyes. “Wow. Short honeymoon.”

“I didn’t forget,” Tyson says, offended, even as he brings his hand up to card through Gabe’s hair, very gently. “I just… remembered it again now.”

“That means you forgot,” Gabe says, slipping his hand up under Tyson’s t-shirt and stroking his thumb gently over his skin.

“I was reminded,” Tyson amends. “I drank a lot of champagne, Gabe.”

“Me too, Jesus,” Gabe says, yawning. “Did we fuck last night?”

Tyson thinks about it as he yawns too. He doesn’t remember, but he’s pretty sure they didn’t. He has a vague memory of yelling down the hallway that he needs his sleep, stumbling into Gabe’s hotel room and trying to order room service with his iPhone, and then collapsing on the bed while an equally drunk Gabe tried to take his shoes off for him. Everything else after that is just a blur, but they definitely hadn’t seemed to be moving toward sex. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, good,” Gabe says, his voice muffled by Tyson’s chest. “I wanna remember our first time married.”

Who _says_ shit like that, Tyson wonders, feeling lightheaded with how much he loves Gabe. “That’s gross. You’re a sap.”

“Whatever,” Gabe says. “I’m romantic.” He lifts his head up to kiss Tyson. His mouth tastes sour, and Tyson knows his can’t be any better, but he doesn’t care.

“Hi,” he says when Gabe pulls away, putting his hands on Gabe’s face.

“Hi,” Gabe says, smiling at him.

“Any regrets?” Tyson asks.

“Hell no,” Gabe says, and kisses him again. “Do we have time to - ” and then his alarm goes off, which means they only have half an hour until they have to be in the lobby, ready to head home, and he sighs. “Goddammit.”

“Look at it this way,” Tyson says as Gabe rolls off him and sits up, wincing. “Now we can fuck at home and it’ll be special.” He’s mostly joking, but Gabe actually brightens, smiling at him.

“That’s a good point, Tys.”

“You’re a _sap_ ,” Tyson tells him again, getting out of bed.

“You married me,” Gabe points out, and they lose five of their thirty minutes to making out because yeah, holy shit, they’re married.

 

 

It’s already on Deadspin. There are photos of them coming out of the chapel, and then later, outside. Whoever wrote the article enlarged one of the photos and put big red circles around their rings. Tyson doesn’t really care, but he also has five missed calls from his agent, two from his mom, and when they get to the lobby, Nate takes one look at him and stomps outside to the bus.

Shit.

He tries to sit next to Nate on the bus, but Nate puts his backpack on the empty seat and glares at him, so he sits next to Gabe and calls his mom back. She answers before the phone has even rung once.

“Tyson Barrie, if it’s true that you got _married_ in Las Vegas - ”

“Hi, Mom,” Tyson interrupts. “It’s true. Sorry. We’ll have another ceremony so people can be there.” Gabe glances at him, eyebrows raised, and Tyson shrugs.

“I’m still upset with you,” his mom tells him, but she sounds a lot less so, now. “Was this planned?”

“Not exactly,” Tyson says. “Not the Vegas part. We’d talked about it, though.”

“I was going to propose for Christmas,” Gabe says, leaning in so she can hear him. Tyson hands him the phone and zones out as Gabe talks to his mom, laughing and being generally charming even with his hangover. Tyson doesn’t know how he does it; he feels like warmed over garbage. Eventually, Gabe says goodbye and Tyson holds out his hand expectantly, figures his mom probably isn’t done being mad at him, but Gabe just ends the call.

“She didn’t want to talk to me?” Tyson asks.

“No, she said she’ll call later and congratulations,” Gabe says, handing him the phone.

“You’re amazing,” Tyson says, taking it as they pull into the parking lot at the airport and some of the guys at the front of the bus start to stand up. “Seriously. Holy shit. I love you so much.”

A few rows ahead of them, Nate huffs loudly. Even the back of his head looks angry. Tyson has some groveling to do. 

 

 

When they land in Denver, Tyson has made exactly zero progress with Nate, who sat alone in the back of the plane, headphones firmly affixed, glaring at anyone who came near him.

“He’s really mad,” he tells Gabe quietly as they disembark. “I fucked up.”

Gabe wraps his arm around Tyson’s shoulders. “He’ll be fine. You didn’t exclude him on purpose.”

Tyson shrugs, and his mood is helped not at all by Amanda from PR waiting to drag them into a meeting with Sakic, half the PR team, and both their agents on speakerphone. His head is pounding, and Gabe looks pissed and confrontational, his face stormy.

“Why do we have to spin anything?” Tyson finally interrupts, as Amanda and the new PR guy whose name he can’t quite remember are in the middle of a brainstorming session, ways they can spin the story to be more “palatable.” Gabe’s arms are folded over his chest and Tyson guesses it’s only a matter of minutes before he explodes.

Amanda and What’s His Name look at him. 

“Tyson,” his agent says over the phone.

“I’m serious!” he says. “We’ve been dating for almost two years and we got married. How is this a problem?”

“Well,” Amanda says. What’s His Name - David! It’s David, Tyson remembers - blinks at him.

“It’s the circumstances, not the marriage,” Gabe’s agent says.

“Oh, who gives a fuck,” Tyson says. “I know it’s unconventional and maybe kind of messy, and yes, we were drunk. I don’t care. Gabe doesn’t care. If I could do it over, I’d do the exact same thing.”

There’s silence.

“Maybe just a statement, then, saying that?” Amanda suggests. “With slightly cleaner language.”

“I don’t understand why we even need a statement,” Tyson says, because seriously. They’re not high profile, don’t play for a major market. They have fans, people who know who they are, but they aren’t _famous_. The closest Tyson gets to being famous is getting to sit courtside at a goddamn Nuggets game, and he doesn’t know much about basketball but he’s pretty sure that’s not very impressive.

“You were on Deadspin, Tyson,” his agent says, sounding tired. “There needs to be a response.”

“Fine,” Tyson snaps, his patience well and truly gone. “Write the statement, Gabe and I both get to approve it before it goes anywhere, and then I’m putting the pictures on Instagram and nobody gets to say shit about it. I’m leaving.”

He gets up and stomps out of the room before anyone can stop him, or even say anything, and he stands outside and glares at nothing until Gabe finally emerges from the building ten minutes later.

“They mad?” Tyson asks.

“Nah.” Gabe shakes his head. “They didn’t say it, but they know you’re right. Hey.”

“What?” Tyson asks. He’s busy looking for the car keys; he’s pretty sure they ended up in his bag, but he can’t find them anywhere.

“Thanks for saying all that,” Gabe says, coming close enough to settle his hands on Tyson’s, making him stop and look up. “Really. I was too pissed off, but - like. It needed to be said.”

“They’re full of shit,” Tyson says, mad all over again. He raises his voice mockingly. “‘It was on Deadspin, Tyson!’ God. Who cares.”

Gabe leans in and kisses him, and when he pulls away he looks happier than he has since they landed. “Hey. Let’s go look at real wedding rings.”

 

 

They don’t get home until after 5, having to pick Zoey up from the kennel - “don’t call it the kennel,” Gabe insists for the fiftieth time on their way there. “It’s doggy day care.” - and Tyson is about ready to collapse as they drag their bags inside. Zoey is running between them happily, and Tyson literally lies down on the family room floor and lets her jump back and forth over him, sniffing until she’s satisfied he’s not an intruder and lies down. 

“Hey,” Gabe says, coming in the room. Zoey immediately jumps to her feet and stares at him, tail wagging. Tyson pets her. There’s a silver band on Gabe’s ring finger that matches the one on Tyson’s, and Tyson smiles at the ceiling dreamily. Suck it, haters, he took Gabe Landeskog off the market. “Tyson!”

“What?” Tyson says, jumping a little. 

“I asked if you want to order Chinese food,” Gabe says. He already changed into sweats and a white t-shirt, and Tyson wants to climb him. He would, if he wasn’t all the way on the floor.

“Oh,” Tyson says. “Yeah, please. Kung pao chicken and - ”

“Two spring rolls,” Gabe finishes for him, smiling at him. “I know. I’ll order it now, okay?”

“You’re a good husband!” Tyson calls after him as Gabe leaves the room, and then lies there and scratches Zoey’s ears and enjoys the way _husband_ sounds. It’s a good word. He feels like an adult. He has a husband now.

They eat in front of the TV; Tyson tucks his feet under Gabe’s thigh and Gabe drinks red wine and squeezes Tyson’s ankle occasionally, smiles at him. When they’re done, Tyson moves his feet, slides over and straddles Gabe’s lap and kisses him. His mouth is bitter from the wine. Tyson pulls away and makes a face.

“Should I be offended?” Gabe asks mildly. 

“It’s so bad, Gabe,” Tyson tells him. “God. How do you drink that stuff?” 

Gabe rolls his eyes and grabs Tyson by the front of his t-shirt and pulls him back in, kisses him open-mouthed and deep and slow until Tyson feels it all the way down to his toes. His skin is humming, his whole body burning up, and he drags himself away from Gabe and scrambles up, gets to his feet. 

Gabe blinks up at him, his lips puffy. “What’re you - ”

“Let’s go,” Tyson says, and whips his t-shirt off. Gabe clues in, then, stands up and kisses Tyson again and lets him shove both his hands down Gabe’s sweats to palm his ass. 

“This is so special,” Gabe mumbles against the corner of Tyson’s mouth, gripping Tyson’s biceps and moving him toward the stairs.

“Shut up,” Tyson tells him. “I love you, you asshole, and we just got married, I can grab your ass if I want.” He feels Gabe grin against his jaw.

In the bedroom, Tyson strips off his jeans and then, only because he really does love Gabe so much that most days he doesn’t really know quite what to do with it all, other than gather it up in both hands and hold it close, he finds a lighter and lights the candle Gabe keeps on his bedside table. It smells like pine and Tyson has to admit, it’s kind of nice.

Gabe is in the bathroom brushing his teeth, so Tyson dims the lights - he thinks that probably counts as special; usually the lights are just either on or off - and lies on the bed to wait for Gabe.

“Do you want me to floss?” Gabe calls. “Like, how sensitive are you about the wine?”

Christ. Tyson has the stupidest, best husband ever. “I’m not, it’s fine,” he says. Gabe scoffs, loudly. “Just get _in_ here,” Tyson says impatiently, and he hears the faucet shut off and then Gabe appears, fully naked, and ambles over to the bed. Tyson feels a little faint. It seems like by now he should be used to seeing Gabe naked; they’ve been together for close to two years, it’s been hundreds of times even without counting all the times in a locker room, and it shouldn’t be this same, breath punched out of him response every damn time. It is, though, somehow.

“Hey,” Gabe says, standing by the side of the bed and smiling down at Tyson, and Tyson sighs and rolls his eyes and flips the blankets down on his side.

“Get over here,” he says, even more impatiently, and Gabe is laughing as he gets in bed and lets Tyson roll on top of him. Tyson winds his hands into Gabe’s hair, wiggles his hips a little and kisses Gabe and enjoys the way Gabe wraps one arm around him. “Love you.”

“Yeah, love you too,” Gabe says, bites his lip and kisses his neck and rocks up against him. Tyson shifts, fits his thigh between Gabe’s, kisses his chest and then his mouth again, and they end up getting off like that, grinding against each other just a little desperately. Tyson kisses Gabe through it when he comes, swallowing up the noises he makes, and then pants and whines against Gabe’s mouth until he comes, hard, a few minutes later.

“Fuck,” he manages, finally, lying on his back and breathing heavily, and Gabe presses a smile into his upper arm. 

“I meant to,” Gabe tells him, and it takes Tyson’s tired, sex-drunk mind a minute to catch up. 

“Oh,” he says. He waves his hand aimlessly. “You can fuck me literally any night for the rest of our lives, Gabe, it’s okay.” He yawns so widely his eyes water, and then adds, “This was more _romantic_.”

“You’re honestly the worst,” Gabe says, but there’s a small smile on his face.

“I lit a candle!” Tyson says, indignantly. 

Gabe laughs hard, eyes crinkled, and then pushes himself up on one elbow and leans in and kisses Tyson again, his hand gentle on Tyson’s face. “I love you and that you lit a candle. Thank you.”

“You are _welcome_ ,” Tyson says, pleased. He’s totally nailing this husband thing.

 

 

Gabe’s phone ringing is what wakes Tyson up the next morning, jars him out of a really pleasant dream about being fed mini quiches in a hot tub, and he rubs his eyes as Gabe answers and then sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed. He’s speaking Swedish, which explains the early hour of the phone call, but he gets up and goes in the bathroom, even shuts the door behind him, and doesn’t come back for almost 15 minutes.

“Shit. Did I wake you up?” he says, when he finally opens the door and sees Tyson lying there, reading the brunch menu for one of his favorite restaurants on his phone.

“The phone did, it’s fine,” Tyson says, locking his phone and dropping it on the mattress next to him; he was really into the description of the huevos rancheros, but Gabe looks upset, face drawn. “What happened?”

“Oh - ” Gabe sighs, very heavily, and gets back in bed, curls up next to Tyson. “Bea is pissed we got married and she wasn’t here.”

“You didn’t exclude her on purpose,” Tyson says, repeating what Gabe told him yesterday about Nate. He really needs to text Nate before seeing him at the game tonight. 

Gabe makes a face at him. “I know. She was just really mad. Hurt, I think, more than anything.” He rubs his eyes. “We probably should’ve done something a little less spontaneous.”

“C’mon, no,” Tyson says. “It was perfect. I don’t want Nate to be mad at me either, and we can do something else to celebrate with our family and friends, but we didn’t do anything wrong.” He pauses and studies Gabe. “Hey. Any regrets?”

“No,” Gabe says. “God. Of course not. I guess I just didn’t stop to think about…” He trails off, shrugs. “Everything else.”

As far as Tyson is concerned, “everything else” is overrated; it’s about their relationship, their marriage, but he also hates that Gabe has that look on his face, his forehead creased, and is clinging to Tyson. He doesn’t love that his best friend isn’t speaking to him, either. He picks up his phone and texts Nate one-handed, his other hand rubbing Gabe’s back soothingly.

_i know youre mad but can we talk_

In five minutes, the status of the message changes from “Delivered” to “Read,” but Nate doesn’t reply.

 

 

“I told you it would be different!” Tyson yells at Gabe before they’re even off the ice that night. Any win is good, but beating Chicago 6-3 is really good, and he’s flying. Gabe grins at him, knocks their gloved fists together as they traipse into the locker room. Tyson beams at Nate, already sitting in his stall, and Nate ignores him. He looks sullen, despite putting up five points, and his mood doesn’t change when he’s awarded the game helmet or throughout the interviews he does. 

“I was just really fired up,” he says at one point, answering a question about what was different tonight for him, and Tyson can practically feel Nate’s glare boring holes in his back. Ouch.

“I gotta wait for Nate,” he tells Gabe quietly, in the hallway outside the locker room, once they’re ready to head out. “He’s so mad. You go ahead.”

“How are you gonna get home?” Gabe asks. “I don’t think you should count on Nate.”

“I can Uber,” Tyson says.

“I’ll wait,” Gabe counters.

“I don’t think you should be here for this,” Tyson says.

“I’ll wait in the car, Tys,” Gabe says, and kisses his forehead. “Take your time.”

So Tyson waits, pacing back and forth, saying goodnight as the other guys and the trainers and equipment staff and coaches trickle out of the room. Nate’s one of the very last to leave, and when he walks out and sees Tyson, he glares at him.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Too fucking bad,” Tyson says, falling in step beside him. “I’m sick of this. I’m sorry, okay? It wasn’t planned.”

“You didn’t think to text me once you decided to do it?” Nate demands. “Or are you gonna tell me it was that unplanned?”

Shit. “No, we… yeah, I should’ve texted you,” Tyson admits. “I was so drunk I didn’t think of it.”

Nate glares, furiously. “That’s real nice, Tyson, thanks.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Tyson says, trying not to sound annoyed, because seriously, what’s he supposed to do now? The strawberry margaritas and the promise of marrying Gabe were overpowering; he can’t change that. “I know I fucked up, I should’ve texted you. We’re gonna have another wedding so everyone can be there and you know I want you to be my best man.”

“You’re not gonna have Josty do it?”

Tyson laughs. “Oh, c’mon, Josty wasn’t my best man. Are you kidding?”

Nate looks like he’s trying not to smile. “It sure looked like it in those photos on Deadspin.”

“You’re a moron,” Tyson tells him. “Josty and JT were our witnesses, whatever, he could never be my best man. That’s all you.”

Nate huffs, but he’s definitely fighting a smile now. 

“You done being mad at me?” Tyson asks, after a few minutes. They’re in the parking garage now, and Nate isn’t running away and leaving, so that’s something, at least. “Because I got _married_ , dude.”

“Yeah, all right, fine, tell me everything,” Nate says, and Tyson grins. 

“Hold on. Let me tell Gabe to go home, he - ”

“Gabe’s still here?” Nate says. “I need to yell at him too.” He holds up his hands defensively when Tyson gives him a look. “Then I’ll be over it! I swear.”

“Fine, yeah, he’s in the car,” Tyson says, and Nate marches over and knocks on the window until Gabe rolls it down. 

“Hey man,” Gabe says timidly. Tyson almost feels bad for unleashing Nate on him like this.

“You should’ve texted me,” Nate says, breathing heavily. “I should’ve been there, Gabe, goddammit, after everything I’ve been through for you two.”

“I know,” Gabe says contritely. 

“All the back and forth, all the dates I third-wheeled because neither of you would admit they were dates, the flirting and the fighting and Tyson’s endless pining - ”

“Hey,” Tyson says, because he absolutely pined but he doesn’t need the reminder. That’s so two and a half years ago. He’s Married Tyson now.

Nate ignores him. “You were both total idiots and I got you together and this is the thanks I get! Unbelievable.”

“Well, actually, we figured out your plan to get us together and laughed about it. I wouldn’t say that ultimately you were responsible,” Tyson says, and Nate looks at him with poison in his eyes before turning back to Gabe.

“Gabe, tell your husband to shut up.”

“Shut up, Tyson,” Gabe says, grinning a little and not looking away from Nate. Tyson beams.

“Okay,” Nate says. “I’m not mad anymore. But you should’ve texted me.”

“We should’ve, and I’m sorry,” Gabe tells him. “I can’t speak for Tys, but I was just so excited to marry him, you know, anybody being there was serendipitous. It’s not like I texted EJ, we ran into them, I would’ve let a stranger be our witness.”

Nate sighs very, very heavily and mutters something; Tyson thinks he catches “perfect for each other” but he isn’t sure. He’s a little busy trying not to go into a swoon. 

“We’re going to Dairy Queen,” he informs Gabe once he recovers, putting his arm around Nate. “I love you but you’re not invited.”

“You’re gonna talk about me, aren’t you,” Gabe says, starting the car. It’s not a question, and he sounds infuriatingly smug, but Tyson shrugs in what he hopes is a mysterious way anyway. 

“No wonder your head is so big, Gabe, you think everything is about you.” 

Nate cracks up, leaning into Tyson’s shoulder, and Tyson can’t stop grinning. God, he loves life. 

“Sleep on the couch when you get home,” Gabe tells him, but his mouth is twisting up as he tries not to smile.

“You sleep on the couch,” Tyson retorts, and leans through the window into the car to kiss him. “Okay, love you, goodbye.”

“Love you too, goodbye,” Gabe says before he heads out, leaving Tyson and Nate in the parking garage alone.

“Okay. Tell me how it happened,” Nate says, sounding only a little bit resigned to what Tyson is estimating will probably be an hour-long retelling of every detail as they start walking toward his car.

“Well, Nate,” Tyson says grandly. “Let me tell you a story about four strawberry margaritas and Elvis.”

 

 

When Tyson wakes up the next morning and rolls over, Gabe is wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He smiles a little, pets Tyson’s hair and kisses back when Tyson leans in, but is still obviously distracted. 

“Okay,” Tyson says, resting his chin on Gabe’s chest. Gabe twitches away from him, muttering something about his chin being too pointy that Tyson chooses to ignore. “What’s going on?”

“I need to call Bea again,” Gabe mutters. His eyebrows draw together in a frown and Tyson wants to run his thumb over them, smooth them away. He doesn’t, though, because he gets it; it feels like a weight’s been lifted off him, now that things are okay with Nate. “I feel really bad about how mad she was.”

“So call her,” Tyson says. “Hey. She’s not gonna be mad forever.”

Gabe laughs, darkly. “You’d be surprised. A few years ago, she was mad at me for a month because I accidentally used her good pencil crayons that are for drawing and I guess like $150 a set? I didn’t know, I thought they were Crayolas. Anyway. I bought her new ones and it still was literally a month before she got over it, and that’s nothing compared to me getting married without her there.”

Tyson snorts. “Stop being a baby and call her, Jesus.”

“Fine,” Gabe says, reaching for his phone. “Get off me, I’m not gonna call her while you breathe loudly nearby, I’m going in the guest room.”

“I love you too!” Tyson says. “Tell her I said hi!”

Gabe gives him a look. Tyson blows him a kiss and admires his ass as he leaves.

Gabe is gone for so long that Tyson eventually gets up, showers and throws on sweatpants and an Avalanche Hockey tee that is actually maybe one of Gabe’s, based on how long it is, and goes downstairs to see if he can manage to feed himself. He wants eggs, but the last time he tried to make eggs they burned so badly that he just threw the pan away, and the only cereal they have is Gabe’s gross Raisin Bran. God. Tyson is married to a 70 year old. 

He’s eating a piece of only slightly burned toast and is seriously considering the Raisin Bran when Gabe comes into the kitchen looking much happier. 

“Good?” Tyson asks, licking jam off his knuckle.

“Yeah,” Gabe says. “She made me promise that we’d have another wedding, though, so…” He trails off, looking serious. 

“What?” Tyson asks, a little apprehensive. There’s no reason for Gabe to look that serious about a second wedding that Tyson already told his mom and Nate was for sure happening. Then Gabe gets down on one knee and reaches for Tyson’s free hand, the romantic weirdo, and Tyson hides his huge grin behind the last bit of his toast.

“Tyson Barrie. Love of my life. Will you marry me… again?” Gabe asks.

Tyson pretends to think it over while chewing. “Yeah, I mean, I guess I could do that.”

 

 

They get married for the second time in June, on a ranch in Wyoming, under a cloudless blue sky that stretches on forever. Inside, before they walk down the aisle together, Gabe does Tyson’s bowtie for him with shaking hands, and Tyson puts his hands over Gabe’s to still them.

“Hey,” he says, and Gabe glances up at him, quick, before focusing on his tie again. “You nervous?”

“No,” Gabe says, and he has to undo Tyson’s tie for the third time because he can’t get it right. “Yeah, a little. I don’t know why.”

“I am too,” Tyson tells him. 

“Performance anxiety,” Gabe says, looking less nervous and more pleased with himself now that he has an opportunity to make fun of Tyson. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Tys.”

“I’m not marrying you anymore,” Tyson informs him, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “This is a divorce ceremony now.” 

Gabe laughs, wide and beautiful, and wraps his arms around Tyson from behind, rests his chin on Tyson’s shoulder. “You’d never.”

“No,” Tyson agrees, smiling at their reflection in the mirror. He looks happy. “Probably not.”

Gabe kisses his neck, just below his ear. Tyson turns his head to kiss Gabe on the mouth and they stay like that for a few minutes, pressed close, Gabe’s arms looped around Tyson’s torso, matching each other’s breathing. When Nate sticks his head in the room, asks if they’re ready, Tyson isn’t nervous at all. He’s never been more ready. 


End file.
